


Heart of Ashes

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2003-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said that Maglor Son of Feanor wandered along the shores, lamenting. They said he never came among his people again.<br/>They were wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maglor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Long did I wander alone, ever gazing at the waves; their eternal rythm slowly dousing the fires of my being till there was nothing left but the faint memory of flame. The air around me was full of those departed or so it seemed to me and I walked as if in a daze; waiting for the breath that should be my last.

And I did not sing.

When many years had passed I realised that the voices of the Dead were no longer as loud in my ears and that the day of my final breath would not come soon.

But still I did not sing.

For I had done so many evils that I did no longer deserve to feel joy. And my heart was ashes.

I did not venture near others for a very long time.

***

It is beautiful here in the deep valley.

It is beautiful and I do not belong here.

I know not why I came. The air is full of noise and I cannot hear the voices of the Dead in my mind and this frightens me. For then I am truly alone. And empty.

My heart is ashes and my spirit cold but still I linger.

For many years one sentence has been spinning madly in my mind.  
"To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well".

So he spake, the Doomsman, and so I believed. But not anymore.

I am hidden in the long shadows at the edge of a clearing; as silent and still as the Dead and Houseless and none see me. But I see. And could I smile still I would. Father's Jewels may have scorched me and the bitter Sea of Despair may drown my soul slowly and surely but the Son of Eärendil is tall and fair and wise and midst his sorrow he takes good care of those who trust him.

That I did not ruin. That I did not destroy.

But I dare not linger in the shadows for they seem bright when I am here. And I miss my Dead, who do not go here - so close to the quick.

And the singing from the Great Hall is too beautiful when the heart is empty.

***

Long have the years been and cold.

Those gone speak less and less it seems and the waves merely murmur and make no sense.

The wind whips my hair about my face as I stand here, on the dunes. None see me and perhaps I have truly died. Without realising it.

But nay, for still I see the light and taste the salt of the sea on my tongue and so it will not be.  
Dead I am not; even less so than I thought for when I see them from afar my heart... my heart stirs - _ashes blown ever so slightly about by the wind_ \- and I cannot move.

She was beautiful when she walked aboard the ship and so are the young ones in their sorrow. But his radiance is blinding as he reaches out - to protect - to soothe - and I find myself wishing that I too could touch another who would have need of me.

The winds of the Sundering Sea are dangerous.  
They stir what is inside and fan fires that should be ashes.  
I wish and long and so do not the Dead.

The spray wet my cheeks and the winds howl; snatching from my lips what could have been song.

The Dead do not sing.

***

The Dark One is gone.  
My brothersons's creations are gone.  
Another Age is gone.

There is silence in the air.

Perhaps I too will leave now.

I walk the streets of this city of Men; recklessly. They seem to see me but move away. I am a spectre; fierce and fleeting and they dare not touch me. Mayhap they see the fires in me; memories of fires - of burning ships and cities and flesh.

I saw their King and for a moment near cried out but then I remembered that it could not be my little one for he is long gone to where I cannot go.  
Another place I cannot go.  
And so I merely watched as the sundered line was united once more - from the shadows.

They cheer and revel but around me it is quiet. Strange it seems but I do not question it.

Suddenly there is one who sees me.  
Really sees me.  
Not a Mortal, but a Teler; fair of face with silver hair and I cannot breathe for surely he will see the fires reflected in my eyes. And I cringe when he reaches out his hand.  
But his voice is calm and although I cannot hear what he says to me - _for the silence is loud in my ears_ \- I see pity in his gaze and his hand is soft on my skin.  
Perhaps he sees that I am dead and pities me that I shall not be at the feast tonight.  
And his hands are warm and my heart is as embers and so is my skin; for the wind has been cold for so long and I have not felt the touch of another since ... since I cannot recall when.

I am sitting down now and I let my hands stroke the soft cushions; their softness gripping my salty skin. It is glorious to sit in silence and softness and the silver-haired stranger who must be very kind to be so concerned about one who is - _dead but not quite for my heart is warm and my eyes are warm and there is no spray but my cheeks are wet_ \- a stranger. And undeserving.  
He strokes my hand and talks still, calming, soothing. He would make a fine minstrel; his voice is fair. Then he smiles at me and leaves to talk to someone behind a door and he has been gone a little while ere I realize that I too smile and **that** is so wondrous that I forget the cushions. And I feel my spirit stir within me.

***

"Master Elrond"

The young elf, one of the Teleri, seems distressed and I turn to him, my face a mask; polite and distant.

"I have come across a warrior. From the battle. A Noldorin."

This gets my attention. I have heard of no Firstborn not accounted for.

"Is he hurt ?"

"There was no blood, Master, but his eyes seemed wrong - mad - and when I spoke to him he didn't seem to comprehend me. And so I brought him here".

I nod. It was well to make sure he didn't wander the streets alone and hurting. I indicate that the young one is to show me to the patient and asks, while we walk down the corridor:

"Did you recognize his colours ?"

The youngster shakes his head.

"He is not wearing armour, Master. But he is clearly a noble. Perhaps he has been held in captivity. His clothes are mere rags and he is underfed. And his eyes...his eyes were all wrong at first, Master - but then he smiled and..."

I nod absentmindedly and pick up a basin and a cloth and follows the youngster through the door. Just because there is no visible blood it does not....

The water stains the tiles when the basin shatters; the faint glimmer of the stones is magnified by their sudden blackness.

***

I feel the gentle warmth of my heart burning slowly in the night. And the warmth of hair under my hand. I caress the starglittering heavens and this makes me smile for surely that can not be right for one doomed. But so it is. And I do not question it.

The Dead no longer speak to me and I believe that I shall join them soon but it has no rush.

This night I am needed.

And this night I sing.  



	2. Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said that Maglor Son of Feanor wandered along the shores, lamenting. They said he never came among his people again.

The water stains the tiles when the basin shatters; the faint glimmer of the stones is magnified by their sudden blackness.

 

 

I stand stricken, staring at the elf seated in front of me.  
Matted hair, grimy skin, and thin. So very, very thin. His eyes are blank with tears and his madness is as palpable as the stench of the rags he is wearing. His eyes are fey, filled with fire and shadows.

But naught of this matters to me.

In my eyes he is radiant like the morning sun, fell and fair as the Host of the West, stirring my heart as a gale.

It seems like an Age has passed before I find my voice and take a furtive step towards him, afraid he'll turn to smoke and I be left alone.

"Maglor?"

"Stop!"

His voice is harsh, unused, and it startles me so that I do as he bid. He gets up only to kneel in front of me.

I am shocked by this but even more so when I realise what he is doing.

He is picking up the shards of the broken basin - all forgotten - at my feet casting a furtive glance at me.

He breaks the gaze and fumbles with the pieces on the floor. "You must be careful, little one," he says in his broken, unused voice. "You could hurt yourself".

I sink to my knees and takes his hands in mine, needing to touch him, needing to know him to be real, to be there.

I can feel the shock of the young one, still standing behind me but I cannot tear my gaze from my foster-father whom I had given up for dead. I ask the young Teler to fetch food and drink all the while trying to catch Maglor's fleeting gaze. In the end I let go of his hands to cradle his face and then he looks at me and ... and I cannot speak.

This is not my people's sadness; this is not Sealonging or a fading heart. This is pain. Pain and madness and a sorrow so deep my own seems a shallow pool besides.

He puts a shaking hand to the side of my face and whispers "This I did not ruin" and then he smiles at me. And in at moment it seems as if the world is right and Elros will come running any minute to demand a story - a proper one - with swords and acts of daring and not just pretty words and poetry. My brother always had a distinct lack of patience with wordy passages unless they described armour or battle.

But time is a river and the elf before me is a broken creature, mad and starved and trembling. My brother is dead, my wife is gone, my daughter is gone, my little human charge is gone, and my people are fading.  
Then the hand on my face moves, drying tears I did not realize were falling, and when Maglor's eyes lock with mine I see that he is still there, somewhat. Not all reduced to smoke and mad twisting shadows.

"I would not leave you alone tonight, little one."

He smiles again, sweetly, madly, stroking my hair and face.

"You never liked to be alone at night but now your brother has wed you must get used to it. Still, we needn't start right away."

There is almost laughter in his voice, his broken, hoarse voice and I begin to say, that no, it is not Elros he has seen, it is Elessar, but then I realize that he knows.

There is meaning to his madness and if that is all the meaning he has left I cannot tear it from him. So I smile through tears and when he pushes me down I go willingly, laying my head in his lap, feeling his thin fingers move through my hair.

The young Teleri brings a tray and leaves but Maglor doesn't notice. He hums to himself stroking my hair and I do not try for long to tell myself that I comply to make him happy. It is as much for my own selfish need I let him do so.  
I weep as a child, mourning my losses as I have seldom let myself do, and he sings to me, snippets of nursery songs and old epic poems jumbled together.  
In the end my tears dry up and I gently push away from him so I can sit facing him.

"Why have you come?" I ask.

"To bid you farewell," he says.

"Why must all leave me?" I ask, ashamed that I sound like a small child but not being able to hold back the words.

"I would not cause you pain, child, but I cannot stay. The Dead has grown so quiet. For a long while I waited but I dared not go near you for I have failed greatly and done much that was wrong. I feared to taint you; ruin you yet.  
But I loved you; I loved you and your brother as if you were my own and that I did right. I thought my heart was ashes but seeing you…" here he paused to lay a hand on my chest "seeing you has reminded me of the gentleness of flame and I shall go into the dark knowing that there was warmth also in my life and not just lifeless lustre".

I bow my head and whisper: "You meant much to me".

Then I get up and fetch the now tepid water, a cloth, and clothes for the one who was as a father to me. He lets me tend to him, humming softly all the while. His skin is cold to the touch and I am reminded of my silver queen when she lay in silence in our chambers. And I fight to keep fresh tears from falling.

He turns still under my hands and I see how his gaze grows clearer till his eyes are once again like stars, clear and bright. His spirit is quiet now as the spirit of Mortals is quiet when they are old and worn and ready to leave the Circles of the World behind them. And I realize that even if I could make him stay I would not. Not anymore than I would have kept my wife with me against her will, kept my brother at my side when he wished to set sail, or kept my daughter and my Mortal Son apart, when all their happiness now lay with each other. Instead I try to impress every moment of this our time together upon my very soul. I loved him truly as a child and so I wish more for his happiness than my own. Even if it brings me sorrow. And the stilling of his tremors and slow growing softness of his voice do much to soothe my weary heart.

When the sun has set the King of Gondor and Arnor comes to the chamber, most likely fearing that I have left in my sorrow without bidding farewell. He stops bewildered just inside the door, looking in confusion at Maglor sitting amidst the pillows on the floor, one hand stroking my calf as I sit behind him, brushing his hair gently. He catches my eye and I nod and he enters the room and sits down next to us, folding his long legs underneath him.

….

So there we sit for a while, fathers and sons though not. And I feel the pain in my heart lessen as Elessar leans forward and says, “My name is Estel, grandfather,” gently and low when Maglor asks him. And he sends for Arwen and my sons and they come too. Maglor seems lucid and content, and I look around in the soft light of the candles and see that I too have done right for there is much love in the eyes of those around me. It does not take away the pain inside my heart but it grows steadily duller till it is an ache more than a gaping wound.

..

And so it was that the last Son of Feanor returned to his people to give up his spirit on the eve of the night of the Coronation and marriage of the King and Queen of Gondor.

Few where the hours he spent with his foster-son and none knew of what they spoke. But the servants later told that the song of Maglor was more beautiful than the starlit skies and bitter as brine.

When the night fell, a hush fell on the room and all therein knew that the time had come. Elrond knelt at the bed and Maglor looked long at him.  
"It is silent" he said and looked towards the stars. And then he said no more.

All bowed their heads and Elrond sang a lament, wordless and ancient before they wrapped Maglor in linen, dark with the mark of his House upon it.  
Elessar offered to lay Maglor in a splendid grave in the White City but Elrond Peredhil brought the corpse with him when he left with his Sons and their entourage for the deep valley.

And so the last Son of the House of Feanor was laid to rest in Imladris, in an unmarked grave.  
The Sons of Elrond oft went to sit there after their father had left. It was a good place to remember, they said. A good place to sing of sorrow and loss. A good place to sing of love.

And so they did till they too were gone and Rivendell itself faded and all there was left was an unmarked grave beneath the dome of the heavens watched by the silent stars.


End file.
